Differing Definitions of 'Friendship'
by neutralgray
Summary: A contemplation of the character of Carl Buford as recalled by thirteen year-old Derek Morgan. Warnings: non-con, explicit sexual abuse of a minor, blood/bloodstains.


During his time with Carl he often found himself wondering 'why.' Why him? Did Carl choose him because he needed a friend? Was he lonely or sad? There were a lot of other kids like him that didn't do this (well, not that he was aware of) so that seemed a little odd; grownups usually spent time with other adults, especially in the way they were.

But maybe it was because he loved him; Carl had taken to saying that after they finished "enjoying each other's bodies" (or so he put it). Older people were supposed to do this when they were in love, that's what everyone said. His mama loved him but they certainly didn't do stuff like this so maybe it's only for special friends. Carl let him call him by his first name; said they were equals, so that had to have some kind of significance.

As he propped his forehead on his folded arms, face lifted slightly off the pillow to allow for the shallow intake of oxygen, wisps of relief for his aching lungs, Morgan wondered if he and Carl really did complement each other. The man was helping him out with football so he could eventually get a scholarship to Northwestern and protect and support his mum and sisters. And in return he was letting Carl appreciate him in a physical way, so it really wasn't too bad, it seemed pretty fair.

Except for the part involving pain. It hurt, being with Carl like this. From the way it was often romanticized by other kids and older teens, you'd think it would be a little smoother, like in the movies, maybe. But did that mean he was the girl? The films only showed a man and a woman, never two of a kind. Maybe that's also indicative of the uniqueness of their relationship - that they're both men. Huh.

As he felt Carl's breathing (he smelled like old tobacco mixed with another odour he couldn't quite pinpoint other than it being vaguely similar to his dad - some of that Old Spice tang, maybe) becoming increasingly ragged, Morgan's own chest tightened as he fought back a pained gasp. The sensation wasn't at all pleasant and it was often at this point he suspected that Carl got more out of this than he did. He'd touched Morgan's penis for a bit at the beginning, right after they came in from the lake and dried off (having swum naked, of course - "We're old enough to be mature about each other's bodies, right, Der?") and that felt sort of nice at first, but now Carl was hard inside him and he had nothing; limp flesh rubbing uncomfortably over the flannel sheets of the bunk bed mattress they shared.

He experienced a strange feeling back _there_ as Carl pulled out and turned him over onto his back, kneeling heavily between his thighs. It felt like a short, sharp ripping; sort of like when the knee of your jeans catches on the top of a wire fence while scaling it, fraying the material around the edges. Morgan knows what this means - the next evening when he removes his underwear, he'll most likely find smears of dark red tinting the fabric and causing him to feel a little faint. He tried to hide it from Carl the first few times, but the man saw him shoving the soiled garment into the bottom of his travel bag and gently reminded Morgan that they should clean them before going back home - his mama wouldn't understand this guy problem, right? So Morgan agreed on the pretense of wanting to avoid embarrassment with his mama, accepting the pat on the back from the broad hand and gave his underwear up for washing.

He had to work to refocus on Carl, opening his eyes and looking down his body as the man took his wrists and guided Morgan's fingers to the rim of the condom he sported on his cock, and Morgan peeled it off for him, able to distinguish faint tinges of red along the translucent latex barrier as he did so. Handing it to Carl, who would carefully sterilize and dispose of it later (proper cleaning procedure, you know), Morgan wrapped his hands around Carl's penis; he requires both to cover the girth, and started stroking. He felt a little reluctant to do this for him, but at the same time just wanted to get this over with a quickly as possible.

Morgan watched as Carl's head fell back and his vast chest heaved before he climaxed, strings of semen spurting from his penis and covering Morgan's belly, which had just begun tautening as he entered his teenage years, stripped off all pudginess often found in younger children. The fluid had a warm temperature and was a messy coating on his skin, but at least it was almost over. Sometimes, if he were lucky, Carl would let him taste the byproduct of his orgasm; it was the closest he'd get to experiencing what semen was like, since he himself wouldn't ejaculate any of his own at this stage. It satisfied both his slight curiosity and Carl's needs. Licking the last traces from his lips slowly so Carl could see (he likes to witness it), Morgan couldn't avoid shuddering in relief; it was over, at least for today.

After Carl got up from the bed and smiled at him, Morgan left to take a bath like usual, scouring his skin in the tub as his mentor scrubbed the condom and his older underwear in the kitchen sink. The heat stung the broken skin of his rear, but at least it was physically clean (certainly not mentally, though). How he longed to remain in the bath indefinitely, to sink beneath the surface and test how long he could hold his breath for; endurance is important, just like Carl says about football.

The name jars Morgan from his brooding thoughts and he reluctantly pulls the plug and moves to squat near the back of the tub, index finger idly swirling around the circling force of the drain; watching with a detached expression as the water, diffused with pink, is funneled into a frantic whirlpool and spins off into the darkness.

This is the worst part, Morgan has come to realize, after he's toweled dry, gotten into his pajamas and gone to sit on the couch in the small den, heeding Carl's beckon. The doubting. Carl always says that he loves him, but friends shouldn't hurt each other, no matter how they're helping you to survive. As he leans into the man's side like he's told, Morgan wonders if Carl can feel the slight dampness seeping through his thin t-shirt as he pretends to watch the football game, eyes glistening in the dim light of the television set. Wonders how he can tell Carl that he doesn't want to be friends anymore.


End file.
